


Outta my head

by withered



Series: In another life [13]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Established Relationship, M/M, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22785709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: James doesn't tell Tony what he does for a living. In hindsight, maybe he should've.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: In another life [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/927108
Comments: 56
Kudos: 681





	Outta my head

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone who requested "didn't know I was dating a mobster"

James decides early not to tell Tony what he does for a living. Not that it’s a hard decision it’s just. James knows what he looks like: six foot one and built like a brick house, and the shiny metal arm he got as a souvenir post-tour _does not help._

Nonetheless, Tony. 

Tony’s sweet.

And while he hadn’t been afraid of James when they’d first met, James knows that his general appearance gives people Ideas, and Tony’s different, but he’s not _that different_. The guy definitely gets off on James’ man-handling him in the bedroom (and just about anywhere else, if given the opportunity), and if allowed, Tony will recite sonnets over James’ physique (and his mouth and his tongue and his ass and his di-). Not that James is _really_ complaining. Certainly not when the mood strikes Tony most often when he’s flush with pleasure and mouthing the words against James’ skin. 

Anyway. 

James doesn’t tell Tony what he does for a living not because he’s embarrassed, but rather because _he hates his fucking job with a burning passion of a thousand suns._

But he’s a war veteran with a disability and regular appointments with a therapist for his PTSD, and jobs are really hard to come by overall. Let’s not even get into the whole _money_ situation which is definitely a situation because medical bills and therapy don’t pay for themselves, and James is really just counting his blessings here that his job - shitty as it is - pays decently enough. Especially with that horrible mistake James had made getting a loan from _Rimlow_ , of all people. A mistake he is, unfortunately still paying for. Fucking Russian loansharks. 

Fortunately, he never has to bring up his money problems nor his shitty job because Tony doesn’t bring it up. 

Tony, who likes dates in with Netflix and takeout; who'd prefer hiding out in a blanket fort than going to some fancy restaurant when James is having a bad mental day; who likes to surprise James with bubble baths in his ancient tub in his apartment and giving warm oil massages when the weather makes James' joints hurt. Tony, who seems to prefer trading theories over television shows and arguing over the symbolism in old books over just about anything else.

James knows he’ll have to tell him eventually especially because James really wants this relationship to last, but he’s dreading the pitying looks and the gentle, well-meaning, but frustrating question of, “Why don’t you just quit?” Which, _Steve, I love you, but life is not cheap_. _Not everyone is lucky enough to get with a hot British chick with money._ And, _no, I’m not taking your goddamn money, Steve, **god.**_

Regardless, James is hoping that Tony won’t make a big deal out of it when James inevitably does tell Tony about his job, and the money problems that James _swears he is getting a handle on if Rimlow stops being a fucking bastard._

If anything, James is kind of counting on Tony talking shit about it with him rather than tell him what to do about it. Tony’s good at that, taking James’ issues in stride. 

Tony’s slept over enough times to know that James is a little weird about stuff: checking the doors constantly, prowling around in the dark, maintaining his veritable arsenal beneath his bed; and that’s not even getting into his night terrors, depressive episodes and angry outbursts. 

Tony handles it all like a champ. He’s also pretty well versed in dealing with James’ emotional trauma on top of the physical ailments with having a prosthetic (which Tony’s adjusted and repaired for him enough times that James would _fucking propose_ if it didn’t seem too premature and wouldn’t scare him off), and if anything, Tony seems almost comforted that his boyfriend is a little paranoid. 

Tony, with his sweet lipped smiles and big brown eyes, and his excited ramblings about technology of every variety, is probably a mechanic or a science teacher.

In hindsight, James shouldn’t have assumed. 

It's an ordinary enough evening when he finds out what exactly Tony does for a living: James is back from his shitty job, and after spending half an hour scrubbing off the mental _ick_ in his shower (with the improved pressure, thanks to the showerhead Tony modified one Sunday a month ago, and the awesome smelling shampoo Tony bought him), James is standing over the stove prepping for dinner. Tony's going to hang out once he's done with work, and according to the vague text message James had gotten, Tony's had a bad day. 

So James is making Tony's favorite; he's already got the movie of the night picked out, and after James had gotten home he'd shoved the blanket Tony's claimed as his favorite into the wash so it was fresh as a daisy and warm to boot, all ready for when Tony arrived. 

When the knock on the door comes, James is expecting Tony. What he doesn't expect is Rimlow with a gun.

"What the fuck." 

"I'm here to collect." 

"We had an agreement," James argues, holding his hands up placatingly. "I still have two more days to make the payment for the month." 

Rimlow sneers. "I'm not talking about the monthly, I'm talking about the interest." 

_This fucking son of a bitch,_ James curses. "We didn't agree on an interest." 

"Well, I'm saying there is." Casually, Rimlow looks around and then flashes a smile with all teeth, "Seems you're doing a little better for yourself since I dragged you out of that debt with the insurers, huh? How's fifty sound?" 

_Impossible_ , James doesn't say, though Rimlow clearly hears it with the way his mouth seems to widen in his delight. "Now, now. We're old friends, you and I, brothers in arms. I'll do you a solid. Take a few jobs with my guys and we'll be square." 

James grits his teeth, thinks _fuck no, I'm not working with a bunch of fucking nazis,_ and says instead, "I'll get you your money. Just. Jesus, put the gun away. Christ." To his horror, before Rimlow can do anything with the gun - like hopefully, put it away - there's a knock on the door, and Tony's already talking, "Babe, I swear to god, you won't believe the day I just had."

At James' flinch, Rimlow's brows raise and then he's leering, "Well, what do we have here?" 

"It's just my boyfriend," James says, voice level, already inching for the knife he's got strapped beneath the counter. "He's got no trouble with you." 

"I'll decide that," Rimlow declares, backing up to turn the knob to open the door, just as James manages to get the hilt of the knife in his hand. Turning a smarmy smile to Tony in the doorway, Rimlow purrs, "Well, who might you...be...?" before his face goes ashen. 

James hesitates, and even with a barrel of a gun pointed at Tony, he strolls right in without a care in the world. In fact, he cocks a brow at Rimlow like he couldn't be more unimpressed, and if that wasn't completely baffling, Rimlow's babbling nervously, "Mr. Stark, I -"

"Last I checked, this is outside Hydra's neighborhood." Sweeping his gaze, dark as coals and piercing like glass over James before he directs his attention back on Rimlow, lazy and intense all at once; the confidence of a predator playing with his food, "Are we gonna have a problem, Rimlow?" 

"N-no, sir -"

"Really," Tony continues, expression almost offended. "And what business do you have pulling a gun on my boyfriend?" 

"M-money." 

"How much?" Tony deadpans. 

"Tony," James tries to interrupt, but the look Tony shoots him is sharp. James wants the ground to swallow him up. And maybe possibly, get on his knees at Tony's feet because _how the hell did he not know Tony could do that with his voice and his body and his - God, this is a really bad time to get hard._

"How much," Tony repeats, and after Rimlow spits out a number, Tony inclines his head, reaches for his wallet and throws it at him nonchalantly. Rimlow manages an awkward catch and then hastens to leave, except Tony calls after him, "Shield will be in touch." 

If it were possible to pale any more, Rimlow would, and James is. So very confused. Because. Shield is. Shield is a vigilante group. Shield is the mob. And if Rimlow, of all people, is scared of Tony - Tony must be a big fish in that pond, and that's -

"I work as a mascot at a fast food joint," James blurts, and can't seem to stop, "no one would hire me, and I needed surgery for the arm and I got into debt and made a bad deal with Rimlow, and that's why he was here and -" 

His rambling comes to an awkward stop when Tony comes to stand in front of him, expression unreadable. Then, "You've got a knife in your hand."

"Yeah." James swallows. "I was gonna. I was gonna throw it at Rimlow, but he got to the door first." 

"You were gonna kill a man right in front of me?" Tony asks, absent of inflection, and James is definitely sweating. 

"He was gonna hurt you to get me to work for 'im, and I couldn't let that happen."

"Huh." Circling James now, Tony muses, "How'd you like a new job?" 

"Doll?" 

Thoughtfully, Tony says, "You'd look good in uniform, hell, you look good _out of uniform."_ Then, shaking his head as if to dispel the mental image, he continues, "Shield's well run, we don't actually do shady shit unless the situation calls for it - corporate espionage mostly and collaboration with the Panthers. We steal from the rich, give to the poor; we've got a Robin Hood agenda, and our main enemies involve white supremacists and capitalist fuckwads who's specialties are warmongering and legalized slavery." 

"The mob are the good guys?" At Tony's smirk, James exhales, "Brave new world." Before, "Wait, what exactly does this job entail?" 

"Protection for whistleblowers, mostly, and me, on occasion." 

"And who exactly are you, Tony Stark?" James wonders. 

"Technology expert and R&D specialist, one of the founders of the whole thing," he says, then, a little more nervous, "and hopefully, still your boyfriend?" 

James rolls his eyes because _obviously_ , then, with a returning smirk, James asks, "Where do I sign?"


End file.
